The air crackled with a strange energy, a silent hum that resonated through the very bones of quatico. Hannibal Lecter, the man who once seemed shrouded in a perpetual enigma, was changing. It wasn't a dramatic shift, more like a subtle shift in the currents, a subtle shift in the way he looked at you. His gaze, once piercing and analytical, now held a strange warmth. It was a dark warmth, like the glow of embers in the dead of night, but gentle nonetheless. It lingered, a silent question, a silent plea for understanding. You found yourself catching his eye more often, drawn in by that intensity.

His touch, once reserved and calculated, had become a thing of almost hesitant tenderness. A brush of his fingers against your arm as he passed, a lingering touch on your hand when he handed you something. These small gestures, so unlike his usual aloof demeanor, sent shivers down your spine.

His presence, always imposing, had become a reassuring constant. You could feel his tall form hovering nearby, a silent guardian watching over you. He seemed to anticipate your needs before you even voiced them, a silent protector covering your blind spots. The most noticeable change, however, was the way his entire being seemed to vibrate at the sound of your voice. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and he was suddenly a hunting dog, ears perked, attention laser-focused on you. It was both unnerving and exhilarating, a testament to the growing connection between you both.

"Dr Lecter?" You call out gently for his attention.

His head turned a full 90° to face you, a dark and almost giddy glimmer in his eyes that faded in seconds. "Yes?"